And Then There's Life
by SongbirdNoodles
Summary: A week, and a life, in the life of CJ and Danny. Total fluff, post-series.


_**And Then There's Life**_

_i. monday_

He wakes up to the sound of a whispered swear and a loud crash. When he cracks his eyes open and locates the noise, what he sees is CJ, sprawled on from the floor if their hotel room with a cross look on her face, fully dressed in jeans and a brown wrap blouse, both of which are covered in what looks like a grande (possibly venti) Starbucks caramel machiatto with whipped cream.

"Fuck," CJ mutters, clambering to her knees. "Damnit all. Oh." She blushes heavily when she sees him grinning down at her. "You're awake."

"As are you," he points out with a smile, pulling himself into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

CJ shrugs. "Late. Do you want some coffee?" She gets up from the floor, peels herself out of her clothes right there in front of him and bends over her half-unpacked suitcase. "I got you a muffin too, I wasn't sure which kind you liked so I got carrot, 'cause that tends to go over well, and just plain coffee, you know, I don't think guys really go for the sugar-swirly-extra-cream thing, except for Sam, but that's different, and-"

"That's great," Danny manages, vaguely distracted by the fact that she's still standing there in her underwear. "How long have you been up for?"

"Two hours, maybe?" CJ answers, distractedly, extracting a tangerine cardigan and a T-shirt from her suitcase and pulling it over her head to his great disappointment. "And good thing to, 'cause Josh called like an hour ago to have this oh-my-God-I'm-White-House-Chief-of-Staff freak out, which, for the record, I never got to have. Oh, and," she turns, retrieves the parts of the LA times that aren't soaked in coffee from the floor, "I circled a few places for us to look at, you should check them out."

"CJ," Danny, interrupts, gently, having finally had the opportunity to glance at the watch on his nightstand, "it's 7:30."

"Yeah?"

"You got up at five thirty this morning? "

She rolls her eyes. "I _woke_ _up_, Danny, it's not like I sent my alarm or anything. I just have eight years of habit to overcome."

"You could have gone back to sleep," he points out, smiling.

She just shrugs and hands him a half-cold paper cup of coffee. "Here you go. I'm gonna go get ready so we can hit the road and-"

"Hey, hey," he disposes the coffee on the nightstand and catches her thin wrist in his hands, making her face him. In magenta lace panties and a simple white t-shirt, she's as beautiful as she's ever been. "Breathe."

CJ laughs, ruefully. "Yeah. Sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't apologize. C'mere." He gathers her into a hug and then, to her surprise, pulls her into his lap. She shrieks, and laughs, as he buries his face in her hair. "Good morning," he whispers into her neck, placing a kiss on the small birthmark just behind her earlobe.

She turns her head to face him, beams, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, and kisses him. "We should get up," she mutters, "we want to get a start on some of these houses."

He tightens his grip around her waste. "We need to have a serious conversation about time," he whispers.

"Time?"

"About the concept of having it." His lips travel along the curve of her neck. "About the concept of having _lots_ of it. Time to spare."

"A novel concept," she remarks, drily.

He laughs a soft, caressing laugh. "I had a hunch. But we've got it. Time for this," he raises her hand and presses a kiss on each fingertip, "and this," he runs his thumb over the waistline of her panties, "and..."

CJ breathes, sighs almost. "That sounds..." Her breath catches as he slips his fingers under her shirt unexpectedly. "... not bad at all, actually."

Danny smirks to himself as she crawls out of his lap and turns to face him, press a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his lips and then pulls off her T-shirt slowly, deliciously, her eyes fixed on his as she snaps off her bra and straddles him before kissing him again. "What was that serious conversation you wanted to have?" She whispers into his ears and he smirks, breathing back that he's okay having it some other time.

_ii. tuesday_

"CJ! Your cab's here!" Danny hollers up the stairs as he peers out of the kitchen window before bending over his son again. "You done there?"

Eight-month old Jonah bashes his tiny palm in his bowl of mashed carrots affirmatively before rubbing the now puree-covered hand all over his hair and forehead. Danny sighs as he carries the squirming baby over to the sink, places him on the kitchen counter and has just managed to wipe off most of his head and wispy baby hair when, with a clang and a self-satisfied "Ooh!" Jonah manages to knock over an open jar of yogurt all over himself.

"Joe!" Danny exclaims, breaking into a strain of the mangled version of Arabic swearwords he picked up as a foreign correspondent and now frequently uses in front of his kids as he attempts to wipe off the counter, keeping a firm grip on the baby with the other hand. "Come on, you little monster, let's get you changed."

He carries the baby into the kids' room upstairs, where he finds their five-year-old daughter Norah listlessly sitting on her bed, flipping through_ Is Your Mama A Llama?_ as her feet dangle off her purple glitter comforter. "CJ, seriously, YOUR CAB!" Danny yells towards their bedroom. "You okay, baby girl?"

Norah just shrugs. "C'mere," Danny beckons, gently. "Are you upset about Mommy leaving?"

Norah shakes her head violently, just as CJ appears in the doorway, balancing an overflowing carry-on in one hand, the other resting on a rather battered trolley bag. "What happened here?" She asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Jonah made a mess again," her daughter informs her in thoroughly disinterested voice. "And your cab's here, so you should go." The little girl doesn't even bother looking up from her book. "'Bye, Mommy."

Danny glances at CJ, who looks hurt and bewildered. "Do you want me to bring your stuff downstairs?" He asks her, implying he could give her a chance to talk to their daughter. CJ shakes her head. "I'm gonna go ahead."

Danny makes a face. "I'll be there in a sec." He watches her go before settling down on the floor, with his back against her bed. "Norah. Look at me, please. _Norah_."

She raises her head, crayon-orange hair pulled into French braids by her mother after she jumped into their bed just shortly after sunrise, cuddled against her mom's warm frame as CJ's quick fingers sifted through the little girl's hair. The neat braids turned unruly after a morning of running around in the backyard with her baby brother, trying out the new swing set that had appeared the previous morning to sweeten their mother's upcoming departure. Danny reaches out a hand and pulls her into a hug. She squirms and struggles, but by now, he's figured out the ways of Cregg women, never daring to be loved the way they ought to be, terrified of being left and hurt, hating nothing more than the prospect of being alone.

"It's okay," he whispers into her ear. "I know you're sad about Mom leaving again."

"I'm not," Norah snaps, sticking her chin out and looking away from him with watery eyes.

"Yes, you are," he smiles. "And so am I. And so's Jonah, he's been doing stupid stuff all day. And it's _fine_. But you have to find a better way to show Mommy that you love her and that you're going to miss her or she'll be really upset-."

"I _want_ her to be upset!" Norah bursts out, burying her head in the crook of her father's neck, and he feels his T-shirt collar grow wet and warm with his daughter's tears. He gathers her in a large arms and rubs her back until she's calmed down, whispering in her ear that it's okay, that her Mom will be back soon. Norah sniffles a couple of times then looks up at him, tearfully. "I was really mean to her, wasn't I?"

Danny smiles. "It's okay. Go apologize, she'll understand." He watches as his kid wipes her cheeks and scampers out of the room before picking up her little brother and following her. On the front porch, mother and daughter are locked into a tight embrace, CJ whispering something into her daughter's ear that makes her giggle rather than cry. Finally, CJ pries Norah off her in order to press a kiss on Jonah's nose and then lean her forehead against Danny's.

He grins at her. "I'll miss you."

She grins back. "Me too."

"I love you," he whispers, kissing her. Norah lets out a scandalized "Ew!" in the background.

"I love you too," CJ replies, eyes dancing and not afraid of saying out loud.

As they watch the cab drive away, Norah and Jonah both wave earnestly, Norah's calls of "bye-bye, Mommy!" cutting through the sweet, afternoon quiet of the street.

"Twenty-one fingers," Norah sighs, wistfully, as she snuggles against her Dad.

"Hm?"

"That's how long it's going to take till Mommy comes back," she explains. "All ten of Jonah's fingers, all ten of mine, and your big thumb for the last day because she said the last day always seems the longest."

_iii. wednesday_

"Okay," CJ says into her cellphone, "Jonah, I have to go. Me and your Daddy, we love you and your sister very, very much. Be good for Jed and Abbey, okay? Okay, honey. We miss you too. We love you very much. See you soon. Bye, Jonah." She snaps her cellphone shut and looks at Danny with a crease in her eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Yes, we should," Danny smiles back, handing her a beer. She shakes her head and pushes her sunglasses into her hair. In the light of the sun setting over the Botswana Savannah, her skin shines like gold, and Danny can't take his eyes off her. She scoots into his arms and sighs, "Relax," he smiles. "They'll be fine." He drops his lips into her hair, savors the smell of her still-damp, freshly washed hair against his nose.

"I just _hope_ they behave," CJ sighs. "Jonah's been such a handful lately. Both of them. God, sometimes I still ask myself, what the hell am I-"

"Stop it," he tells her, wearily. "We did a good job on them. _You_ did a good job on them."

"Jonah's gonna be six in like three weeks," CJ moans. "How the hell did that happen? He's my baby boy, he's not supposed to be going to school and getting report cards and learning the state capitals by heart and taking SATs-"

"I think we've got another elven years 'till he hits SAT territory, actually," he reminds her, gently. The conversation ebbs out, until all that's left is soft, regular breathing in of that strange, clay-scented savannah air and the deliciously familiar smell of the other's body.

"Did you ever think we'd get here?" CJ asks, eyes still closed.

"Here?" Danny asks, smiling. _Here_, is the rooftop terrace of the small, simple but very well-kept guesthouse of an abbey in the middle of the African bush, containing the only school and health post in miles, by day, swamped with chattering children, sick elderlies and pregnant mothers, at night, peaceful but for the fireflies and the animals stirring in the bush. _Here_, is their tenth anniversary not celebrated in Paris or Hawaii but in the middle of one of CJ's fact finding missions to Africa. _Here_ is with ten years between them, two kids that despite CJ's many misgivings are smart and loud and happy, _here_ is two hands that have grown increasingly lined still tightly interlaced as they look up into the vastness of the sky above already smattered with stars. "Truthfully? I did."

"You're so full of it," CJ grins.

"Nah," Danny chuckles. "I'm just stubborn." His fingertips trace hers, linger on the small golden band on her ring finger. "You have no idea how glad I am that we did get here," he mutters.

"I think I have hunch." She smiles, ruefully, and pecks him on the cheek. "Thanks for training me."

He beams. "You remember that?"

"You think I'd forget _the_ single most romantic moment of my life?"

Danny laughs. "Not even you." Twelve years have gone by since she came back to his apartment late on a cold, wet night January thoroughly unlike this sun-baked African evening and he told her he wanted them to talk because he liked the sound of her voice. Twelve years since she looked at him like she was a drowning person, twelve years since they finally kissed with lips singing an unspoken promise that they would make this work for all that they were worth, twelve years since when they finally tumbled into his sheets, when they made love gently and tenderly, with no teasing and eyes wide open, and both of them shedding a few hidden, precious tears at the release. Twelve years. And eleven since he found three pregnancy tests, one with two lines, one with a plus sign, and one with a smily face, on the floor next to the couch where she'd fallen asleep, and ten since she'd walked down the aisle of the church back in Bemiji where his parents had gotten married in a white dress barely concealing her very pregnant stomach. Eight years since their baby girl had taken her first tentative steps towards him on their front porch, five since the same girl had asked if she could exchange her baby brother for a puppy.

"Claudia Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you very, very much."

_iv. thursday_

"Can you believe I actually cooked a turkey?" CJ asks, laughing as she drops herself next to him on their bed, holding her stomach and allowing him to pull her into a hug. Outside, a pale November sun sets over the Pacific, filtering into the windows.

"Technically, _Norah_ cooked the turkey," he points out. "And I think she could have pulled off the sweet potatoes and the cornbread as well at this point."

"Shut up," she giggles, elbowing his side, though she knows it's not fair to argue. Their daughter was nine when she first realized just how much better mariana sauce from a jar tastes if you slice in some fresh tomatoes and crumble in some feta cheese, got her hands on her grandmother's tattered copy of Julia Child's_ The Way To Cook_ at eleven, and has been in charge of feeding her parents and picky little brother ever since she convinced them she was fine handling knifes and the stove at age thirteen. The truth is that her mother's contribution to the recent Thanksgiving spread mainly involved chopping things, and sitting in the kitchen with Donna, drinking the white wine her daughter was using to baste their 16 pound free range bird, and CJ knows it. However, that doesn't stop her from repeatedly slapping her husband while he giggles into her shoulder.

"Oh, _ow_, don't touch my stomach. God, I ate a lot."

"Of myturkey."

"_Norah's_ turkey."

"Would you shut it?" They both collapse in a fit of laughter, and when they've just quieted down, CJ bursts out laughing again. "So Jonah," she manages. "What was _that_ about?"

Danny smirks. "Seems to me our boy's realized that girls, you know, exist."

"Yeah," CJ sighs, emphatically. "Man. Catie Lyman, who knew?" She laughs. "Did you hear him showing off about his Wii and stuff? He's got a lot to learn."

"He'll get the hang of it," Danny assures.

"Oh, I know," CJ groans, burying her head in his shoulder. "My son is starting to flirt! Face it, Daniel, we're officially old!"

Danny laughs, running his fingers through her hair and over her temples, pressing a kiss on her cheek. "We're not so old yet." CJ responds with a low laugh, moving to kiss him on the mouth, when there's a knock on the door.

CJ winces and sits up. "Yeah?" She calls, rolling her eyes.

The door opens, and two heads become visible. Jonah, in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt that was a late birthday present of Josh and Donna's, his blonde, wavy hair falling into his spectacled face; followed by his big sister in a chocolate brown tank top that sets off her pale skin and orange hair magnificently, bearing two plates. "Hey guys," CJ grins at her kids.

"Hey," Jonah mumbles, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"You never tried my fabulous pumpkin cheesecake," Norah grins, holding up the two plates, obviously still radiating from the success of her dinner. "Want some?"

"Honey," Danny groans, "that's sweet, but if I eat anything else, I swear I'm going to explode."

"Just try some," Norah begs, climbing onto the bed and holding the plate of cheesecake under her father's nose.

"It's good," Jonah assures. "I'll eat your piece if you don't want it."

"You've already had two slices," his big sister scoffs. "And I'm sure Catie won't like-"

"_Norah_!" CJ interjects, scandalized.

"What?" Norah grins malevolently.

"You know," Danny interrupts, hastily, "we didn't say Thanksgiving grace at dinner. We should do that now." CJ's fingers find his and squeeze them gratefully. "I'll start. Uh.." he glances around. "I'm thankful for having a daughter who can cook better than her mom, and a son who likes books and doesn't hit people. I'm thankful for CJ, every day, and I'm thankful for the Times crossword puzzle on Sundays and the fact that neither of you ever wanted a puppy, and that Norah doesn't socialize with boys, and if she does, she makes sure I don't here about it." He nudges his daughter, who grins.

"I'm thankful for having a Mom who's, like, legitimately cool enough to give a talk at school, and a Dad who trusts me and takes me seriously and makes us lunch boxes every morning, and a little brother who isn't a total creep most of the time and lets me play on his Wii and sometimes lets me help with his homework and please-oh-please will let me help him with the girl thing, and I'm thankful for Miss Julia Child and all she taught us and how well my turkey worked, and I'm thankful for William Sonoma and leftover turkey sandwiches from now till January, for hand-knitted scarves from grandma and college sweatshirts from Josh and Donna." She glances at her mother, who takes her cue, wordlessly, from the angular, bright-eyed young lady her baby girl has become.

"I'm thankful for you guys not fighting a lot and not causing us too much trouble, and for Norah cooking and Jonah being able to work the TiVo and the BluRay, and both of you being so smart and asking so many great questions about anything, even if we just want to tell you to shut the hell up sometimes. I'm thankful for having a job that I love and a family that gets that, and for Josh and Donna and their kids being just like family, and," she leans over to kiss her husband on the cheek and whispers into his ear: "that you took the time to train me all those years ago."

Norah eyes her parents curiously, but her question is steamrolled by her brother who is thankful for video games and parents who don't care that he doesn't like sports and isn't very good at them and a sister who can make blueberry pancakes from scratch, "and Josh and Donna and Nate and Lily and Cate," at which point Norah starts to giggle, "and turkey and sweet potatoes and cornbread and pecan pie and the library and the that Dad said we're going skiing over New Year's."

"He did?!" CJ exclaims.

"You weren't supposed to tell, you moron," Norah scoffs.

Danny just blushes, and when CJ mouths am _I love you_ to him over their squabbling offspring's heads, he offers a huge grin in return.

_v. friday_

He watches her through the kitchen window as she hangs up the phone and paces on their front porch. He calmly pours himself a second glass of wine as he watches her run her fingers through her short, whitening hair, and waits, patiently, before she sticks her head inside the door sheepishly.

"So that was Lauren Chin," she says, biting her lip.

He smiles. He knows what's coming, has known for ages. In the past twenty-five years, she's been an envoy to the Middle East, she's been head of the UN special task force for African development, she's been seriously considered as Secretary of State every time there was a new Democratic president. When Sam finally got elected, CJ commuted between DC and Santa Monica for three years to head President Seaborn's commission on women's issues. This is a logical next step. He's surprised it took them this long.

"Yeah?"

CJ takes a deep breath. "Ray wants me. As VP." She's trying her best to look churlish, but there's a grin fighting on her face that gives away just how much she wants this and how ridiculously proud she is that her boys and her party have finally managed to give her her due.

Danny grins. "You up for that?"

"Bet your ass," CJ blurts out, and he laughs and encircles her in a hug. "You're okay with this, right?"

"Are you kidding?" He laughs, kissing her nose. "'Course I am."

"It's the White House," she points out, a reference to their rocky start, their legendary beginning that seems like a fairytale when you tell it to your daughter but actually was kind of excruciating living it.

"Technically, it's the OEOB and the Naval Observatory," he points out. She laughs at that, and buries her face in his shoulder like she tends to when she's tired or upset or just really, really happy.

In the end, they never get that far. They put up a good fight, she and the junior senator from Oregon, but they're no match for red-haired Republican Liz Sternham who's been Governor of Michigan for years and is so good that CJ -who wipes the floor with her vice-presidential counterpart during the debate like it's going out of style- at one point whispers into her pillow that sometimes she really wants to vote for her. Whether she does or not, Sternham takes the country by storm, and on November seventh, they're back in their house in Santa Monica, and Jonah -sixteen now and appreciative of the relative freedom that comes with parents on the campaign trail- wanders into the kitchen with a disappointed, "Oh, you're back" before giving his Mom a kiss. "Sorry 'bout the election," he tells her, earnestly, while angling for a slice of cheese out of the fridge.

_vi. saturday  
_

Danny wakes up at four thirty in the morning, distracted by the absence of a warm body that should be draped next to his, and the fact that he seems to have much more blanket than usual. It takes him a second to realize CJ's not lying next to him snoring lightly, her hands on his, as she should be. Blinking, he lies there a second, and when she doesn't return, and there are now tell-tale sounds from the bathroom, he unwillingly rolls out of bed, feels for his glasses -an occupational hazard of getting older- and pads through their home.

It's getting fall, and the hardwood floor's cold under his feet, cold and _worn_ after nearly twenty years of Concannons running over them, barefoot and in tennis shoes, high-heels and puppy-shaped slippers, in casts after falling off the cherry tree (Jonah) and in Birkenstocks during an eco-conscious phase (Norah, and CJ for a few hours), in squeaky baby sneakers and dress shoes shined for senior prom. He rounds the corner of the hallway, and, sure enough, finds the night-light on in Jonah's now abandoned room. They moved their son into his five-foot cell of a dorm room at Stanford that morning, and while CJ had been joking that she was just grateful that this one was staying in the same timezone (Norah having graduated from the University of Chicago that spring), he knew that on some level or another, the empty house was getting to her as much as it was getting to him.

He wraps his fingers on the door still sporting an Einstein poster captioned "Great minds have always encountered opposition from mediocrity" and a home made keep-out sign. CJ, lying sprawled on the floor with her legs propped up on their son's once-beloved beanbag chair, looks up at him.

He sits down beside her, choosing not to lie down as to not aggravate his backbones, and takes one hand in hers. "Hey," he smiles.

"Look what I found," CJ whispers, and he's amazed but not all surprised to find her eyes sparkling with tears. She raises her hand and holds up Jonah's badly-beaten up teddy bear. "He didn't take him." She hugs the bear close to her chest and Danny chuckles. "Oh, shut up."

"Sorry," he smiles, "but come on, give the kid a break. He's a freshman in college, he wouldn't want-"

"Yeah," CJ sighs. "Still. Jesus Christ."

He studies her, her face lined, hair graying, eyes still bright and blazing like they were when he first met her. He's seen her in every imaginable state, three months pregnant and green in the face with morning sickness, resplendent and glowing in a ball gown being honored for her work with the Hollister foundation, tearstained and tiny when her father passed away, glowing with pride at Norah's graduation. They've done it, he thinks, they've spent a life together, and the truly miraculous thing is that still they have _time_- time together and time to spare, time to try new things and yell at each other, time to waste on Saturday mornings in bed, time to lose with his fingers in her hair.

_vii sunday  
_

He lets her lean against him as the band moves into something slow and sweet, appropriate for the late night and the occasion, the two of them not as much dancing anymore as swaying with the faint strains filtering onto the porch through the open window. Jonah, after what was basically twenty-five years of courtship, finally managed to tie down stubborn, wild-eyed, iron-willed Catherine Joanne Lyman, and tonight, on a gorgeous summer night at a beach house in the Vinyard, they are celebrating their wedding. Earlier, he watched his son fidget and CJ wipe her eyes, watched Norah's three-year-old scamper down the aisle clutching the rings. He watched Jonah and Cate promise to love, to cherish and to keep one another safe, whole and happy, just like he promised CJ a lifetime ago; and on the whole, he kept that promise.

"I forget to say," CJ yawns into his ear, "that was a nice toast."

"Thanks," he smiles, suppressing a yawn himself. "You wanna get going?"

CJ shakes her head. "Just keep dancing," she mutters, leaning her forehead against his. Keep dancing and dancing as long as their old bones will allow them, keep standing up straight, kept upright and wrapped up in the constance of the other's love and the ongoing joy that is the life they've built together. Tomorrow, they're flying back to California with Norah's kids while their daughter gets things up to scratch for her second restaurant opening in Boston. A few weeks after that, they're traveling to China, and then at some point they'll be paying a visit to Jonah and Catie's new place, who are moving to New Orleans for Cate's Teach for America gig. They've still got plans -a few weeks ago, she turned to him as she was doing the dishes, "It occurs to me I've never been to Mount Rushmore"- and their lives certainly never stop being busy, but for tonight, none of that matters. Tonight, all that matters is that they're dancing, dancing, a soft bossa nova lies in the air and the Atlantic crashes against the darkened beach. Tonight all that matters are their arms, now distinctly wrinkled, encircling each other, tonight all that matters are her lips against his neck and her familiar scent in the air.

Really, it's all that ever mattered.


End file.
